


December Eighth

by mvernet



Series: Sentinel Thursday Prompt Fics [16]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: John Lennon Memorial, John Lennon's Death, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sentinel Thursday Prompt Imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet





	December Eighth

Jim really did try to give Blair privacy in his own home. He tried to dial it down when Blair was on the phone especially with Naomi. Even though Naomi was the one person on earth who could either fill Blair’s heart with love or tear it out of his chest with a word. But the smell of salt water tears and grief coming from his Guide was too much, He had to listen in.

//So, you going to the memorial tonight?//

//Yes, sweetie. The pain is still feels so fresh. It was the ultimate tragedy. All he ever did was bring a message of love and peace to the world.//

//I know, Mom. That message goes on and on. It will never be forgotten. I’ll be there in spirit.//

//I know. I love you, Blair.//

//Bye, Mom. I love you, too. Give Wilson a huge hug for me.//

Jim busied himself with making coffee, while Blair unsuccessfully tried to conceal his tears from his Sentinel. Blair headed for the bathroom without a word. He had set his alarm for six a.m., telling Jim briskly that he needed to call his Mom who was in a different time zone. The phone call hadn’t taken that long, but Blair was obviously upset by it. Jim poured out two mugs and began to make french toast, just the way Blair liked it. They had plenty of time before they needed to get to the station.

Freshly shaved, showered and dressed, Blair returned to the kitchen. He inhaled and closed his eyes, hand going to his chest. “Wow, man. What smells so good?” He sat at the table and smiled down at the place setting and cup of steaming coffee waiting for him. Blair took a grateful sip of Jim’s medium roast.

Jim placed maple syrup, a bowl of fresh sliced strawberries and a platter of french toast made from Challah bread on the table. He sat across from Blair and started to serve himself.

“Dig, in, Chief. Don’t just sit there admiring it.” Blair did as he was told without hesitation. He was too quiet for Jim’s liking, although he was glad to see that whatever sad news Naomi had told his partner, it didn’t affect his appetite. When both their plates were empty of seconds, Jim’s concern overcame his survival instincts.

“Chief, I’m sorry but I overheard part of your conversation with Naomi. I guess I tuned in when you… got some bad news. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy. You don’t have to tell me, but I want you to know I’m here if you want to talk about whatever it is.”

Jim looked into his coffee mug as if all the answers to all the questions ever asked were being revealed in the dark brew. He glanced up to see Blair had leaned back and was looking at him with a fond expression. Jim let out a breath.

“That’s okay, Jim. I think it’s pretty cool that you picked up on my mood and listened in. I know it’s hard for you not to use your Sentinel hearing in your own home. I appreciate both your trying to give me privacy and not being able to because you thought I was upset.”

“You were upset. What’s wrong, Chief? Did someone die? Were they close to you? Do you want to go to the funeral? I’ll help you with airfare and come with you if you want.”

To Jim’s amazenment, Blair chuckled and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “It’s not like that, Jim. I’m so sorry I worried you. It’s just… well do you know what today’s date is?”

Jim frowned. “December eighth.”

“Well, on December eighth, nineteen eighty, John Lennon died.”

Jim nodded and brought back the memory. “It was a real tragedy, him being killed by that fan. I remember I had enlisted the army, just to spite my dad. I was so young, macho and full of myself, trying to fit in. I was so surprised when I saw my Captain briefly hug his orderly, both of them were holding back tears. I could heard them saying they just got the news that John Lennon had been assassinated. I was shocked by the news and my Captain’s reaction. When I heard, Imagine playing on the camp p.a. system, I gotta confess I went off by myself and shed a few tears.”

Blair stood to get the coffee carafe, to freshen their coffee. Then, cup in hand he leaned against the counter looking into the past. “I was eleven. We were living in New York City with this avant garde artist named Wilson. We lived in on the top floor of a old dilapidated building in Soho. I remember Wilson told me it was a 19th century conservatory, so filled with sunlight it was guaranteed to make anything grow even a little pipsqueak like me. It got its light from these massive domed skylights. It was warm even in the winter when the sun shined, but if it turned stormy, I would shiver under my covers and watch the snow fall inside the apartment right through the cracks in the old bubbly glass.. The building didn’t have an elevator so I used to run up the six flights as fast as I could while Naomi and Wilson had to take a break at the third floor landing.”

Blair began to pace slowly. Jim watched him, entranced by his story and his beauty. Since Blair’s death at the fountain, and Jim’s revelations in the pool at The Temple Of The Sentinels, Jim had realized that Blair was his light, his path, a part of his soul. That he loved him and wanted him in all ways. But those overwhelming feelings of love and passion for Blair Sandburg , the man, frightened him to his very core. He knew he was fighting a losing battle with himself. A battle he wanted to lose. He found that he was being cautious around Blair. Letting him work out his feelings of anger and betrayal, while at the same time throwing caution to the wind and touching him any chance he could get. Trying to use the strength of their connection to will Blair to feel Jim’s love and stay with him. Blair sipped his coffee and continued.

“Wilson was a huge Beatles fan and John Lennon was his God. He played Beatles records when he painted and sometimes I would dance or sing along. One day, Wilson was getting ready to give a fall show at a tiny Soho gallery. Yoko Ono came in that morning and looked around, impressed by what she saw. She complimented Wilson as a fellow artist and asked if he would allow her to attend his show that night a little early so she could bring her husband and son. Wilson was so excited that afternoon he was bouncing off the old plastered walls. He took me out and bought me a new suit at Macy's. Then we had lunch at the automat. I remember later that night being introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Lennon. Sean was with them looking a little shy so I took him in the back and we drew pictures of animals together. Mr. Lennon and Wilson ranted over our pictures and hung them up right in the gallery."

Jim let out an impressed, "Wow, Chief. Only you would spend an evening with the Lennon's and never mention it." Blair shrugged. "To me they seemed like just another mom and dad. I was more impressed that Wilson praised me and said my picture of a wolf was, 'definately in the cubist style, like an early Picasso.'"

Jim watched as a bittersweet smile faded from Blair's face. Everytime he heard about one of his Guide's "dads," Jim wanted to turn back time and rip Naomi a new one. Why was his lonely loft the only real home Blair had ever had? How the hell had Blair grown into the ethical, forthright man he was without any guidance in his own childhood? Jim thought of his own father and shook his head once. Maybe growing up without a home or a father was exactly why Blair was such an open, loving man. Jim tuned back in to Blair's story as he sipped at his coffee.

"When John Lennon died a few weeks later, Wilson changed. He grieved as if his whole world had gone dark and no sun would ever shine again. He stopped painting and started drinking. He cried all the time he was drunk. I think it was more than just his hero dying a tragic death. I think that all his hope for humanity and himself died with John Lennon. Wilson felt like his whole life was a lie. That ‘all you need is love’ was only a naive dream and all that was left to him was bitter reality. He became violent and mean. Even at eleven, I knew when things got real in a relationship Naomi would bolt. He said some terrible things to me, but I still hated leaving him like that. I understood that the grief of a fan can be just as real as the grief of a loved one. If you truly love your hero, their death can be devestating. Naomi did stay in touch with Wilson. A year after we left, he married a sweet, devoted woman who believed love could heal all wounds. They have a son named John. Wilson's a pretty famous artist now. Yoko Ono even did a show with him two years ago. Every year Wilson holds a candlelight memorial service at Strawberry Fields in Central Park. Naomi goes whenever she can and I always call Mom on December eighth.”

Blair finished his coffee and hung his head, letting his hair form a curtain over the old unresolved emotions flickering on his face.

"I loved Wilson. He was my favorite dad. We always sang Imagine together. He used to say that song was his church, what he believed in a few beautifully penned lines. I guess I took the words to heart too. ”

Blair closed his eyes and hummed the intro to the song. Jim’s heart squeezed in his chest as he began to sing. Blair’s voice raised in song lifted him out of the ordinary world and into another realm where only the two of them existed.

Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today... Aha-ah...

 

Imagine there's no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion, too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace... You...

 

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will be as one

Jim stood and walked slowly to the counter. Blair’s voice blowing apart his defensive walls. He thought about how brave John Lennon had always been. Riding the hurricane winds of the Beatles from rags to riches. Changing his life again when he put his love for his partner above all else in his world. Writing songs of peace and love that changed the world without violence or hatred. The powerful words of Imagine gave him courage. 

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world... You…

He wrapped his arms around Blair and pulled him close. He joined in the chorus, his deep hesitant voice melding with Blair’s bright impassioned one

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will live as one

Jim let his hand fondle Blair’s curls as he placed kisses on his neck, his ear and finally those blessed lips.

“Jim?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, Chief. I’m a spineless idiot and a coward.” He punctuated the words with another kiss to Blair’s neck.

“Jeezus, Jim!”

“I’m a knuckledraggin’, dumb as a post throwback. I don't deserve your love. but I want it anyway.” Jim began to weave his hands under the layers Blair wore. “Love you. Want you.”

Blair melted into Jim’s muscular arms, hardly able to stand. “Aw, Jim. You’ve loved me all this time?”

Jim stopped a moment and looked Blair in the eyes. “Chief, I’ve loved you ever since I picked you up and threw you against your office wall. You never backed down for even a moment. Then you went on to save my life, over and over again.”

Blair’s smile lit up the room. “I love you, too. Imagine that.”


End file.
